Author
Topic: Convergence (Chap IV) (Read 80772 times)

Talia! Talia, you have to calm down! If you don't, you'll die! She was just too panicked to take heed of such a reasonable caution. She was still clawing futilely at the mud when she felt something new slide down next to her. She grabbed hold of it without thinking; it was a long, thin metal tube. A lance, she realized dimly. It didn't matter why it was there. She latched onto it and tried to use it to pull herself up.

As he felt a tug on his weapon, Kyrian yelled a hearty "hiyooo" to Herald, who faithfully pulled despite his many wounds. It remained to hope that he caught the fish he wished for, not a discarded shoe or tangle of roots...

Logged

"Captain, the buttocks are moving from the pink into the red and purple spectrum! We cannot maintain this rate of spanking any longer!"

As the others desperately struggled to free the Bladedancer, massive, meaty hands clawed their way from beneath tons of mud and debris. Fire seemed to fill his lungs as the hulking warrior warred against the earthen tomb that had enveloped him. The falling hillside’s fury had battered and torn at him, making every movement agony.

Part of Vorodon’s mind wanted to yield, to let his breath out and surrender to the crushing weight surrounding him, but that was something Vorodon could not do. He refused to yield, refused to go down while bone and muscle still answered his will. Force of will drove his legs to push against the stones beneath him. Force of will held his jaw clenched tight as his head swam from lack of oxygen. Force of will drove his arms up and through the mud, heaving at a slab of stone that barred him from the sky.

Force of will and something more: Above the barrier of stone that blocked him, his friends waited. They needed his strength, his blades, his friendship. In the lands of the Volgotoi, the voice of Vorodon would keep them safe. His will drove him upward, but his friendship made him indomitable.

Heaving aside the last layer of mud and stones, the Son of Gorye clawed his way to the surface, eagerly drawing in deep gasps of fresh air. Struggling with his last reserves of energy, he slowly tore himself out of the hellish mire, a surreal figure of mud and blood.

Nearby, he could see Aerax and Kyrian, working feverishly to draw Talia from the clinging muck. His heart leapt into his throat as the behemoth realized that he might have failed her as he had failed Bross. Heaving with renewed energy, the half-ogre drew himself from the mud, staggering weakly forward to help however he could.

Just as unexpectedly as it had started, the mudslide now ebbed. Even the rain had stopped. All the companions were safe and accounted for, but scratched up, wounded in some cases, and covered with a cold, wet filth.

Treading carefully, Kyrian led Herald down the hillock, still treacherous, though the flow was moving slowly now. A smile was on Kyrian’s face. The elf had saved the gypsy, and though shaken and ghostly-pale beneath her shawl of mud, Talia now followed too, having been successfully pulled free of the endless muck. She descended slowly and deliberately, brushing the grime from her face with little success, and muttering something under her breath. She seemed distant once more, lost in her own private thoughts, though her countenance was grim.

Aerex skirted down the muck rather nimbly, now that the avalanche had ceased, and soon the companions were standing together again, at the bottom of the hill. Mud was everywhere.

Vorodon, the companions noticed quickly, who had saved Aerex earlier, and was only moments ago, racing against the tide to try and help his friends once more, was wounded., and breathing heavily. The Behemoth was covered head to toe in mud, not drying in the absent sun, but falling off of him, in great, big, wet globs.

Aerex noticed something as well. Not only had his hat survived the ride (he noticed it was somehow caught on Voro’s dart quiver), but the huge, weird, egg which they were carrying, was seemingly safe as well, poking out of A mound of mud, brown all over, but none the worse for wear, miraculously.

The companions now gathered together closely at the bottom of the spewing hill, and eyed each other. Someone exhaled, a deep, long breath, summing up the last ten minutes, which had seemed to the Adventurers-Upon-Return, as ten long hours.

Herald snorted and nuzzled Kyrian’s cheek.

Somewhere far above, black-crowned eagles circled.

The Company of Brown Tidings was camouflaged quite nicely against the sepia-themed terrain around them.

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p

"Now, band, our adventure had a less than glorious take-off indeed" Kyrian shook his head. "Now brown, soon blue all over, we will find our negotiation and intimidation skills hindered when facing the Verbeeg."

Looking at the Fellowship of the Mud, he spoke once more: "Vorodon, your village may have curative concoctions and life-giving arcana at its disposal; my suggestion is to return there, for the remedies I can bestow miraculously are limited to a charge of mine... perhaps the storm-faced damsel Talia might be able to benefit from them as well. So, what say ye? Return to recover, or forge ahead?"

Grateful for his helmet that shielded his mane from the worst, Kyrian only wondered how much muck managed to soak through his garb to soil his fur. Truly, once he was in Jantir, he would pay for a foam-bath, and young lass to brush him clean. Nothing was going to keep him from that noble goal.

Logged

"Captain, the buttocks are moving from the pink into the red and purple spectrum! We cannot maintain this rate of spanking any longer!"

The shrill cries of the circling eagles drew Vorodon's attention. Indiscriminate raptors, the black-hooded birds were not above scavenging the dead, supplementing their more usual diet of rodents and small game. Laughter rose spontaneously in the hill warrior's chest. "Hunger birds, hunger more long! Vorodon no feed eagles for day! Ha!" The thick layer of mud caking his body made him almost invulnerable to the hill country's voracious mosquitoes, which further elevated his spirits.

The game trail that had led them through the hills held occasional footprints, deep impressions puddled with rainwater. A gifted tracker could learn much from the rain-muddled trail, but Vorodon was at a loss. Were these a sign of the Verbeeg they sought, or simply indicators of the Volgotoi that frequented the trails? He gestured to Aerax, pointing out the confusing signs. "Insector, thing is Verbeeg? For be Volgottir, could no?"

Aerex glanced at Kyrian. He still didn't trust the elf - the "noble paladin" routine was beginning to wear thin - but Kyrian did save Talia. That had to earn him some credit. "If we've come this far, we may as well see what we can figure out before going back." He knelt down over the mud-drenched trail and squinted. "The rain and mud may have damaged the tracks..." he murmured, tracing his fingers over the trail. Perhaps he could still make out something worthwhile...

<OOC> partial success, despite the huge -% modifier for mud factor but really, all you can tell at this point, is that ogre, human, and /other/ tracks abound. Really hard to tell in these conditions the freshness of the tracks and such, due to the wet earth and layers of mud.</OOC>

<OOC> also, forgot to mention to Wulf, Vorodon is aware that another thousand or so feet west (you'd see it if not for the rain and mist and clouds) is the lip of the Ethddos Gorge, 2-3 hundred feet below is the valley. Descending into the valley, is a faster way to travel to the road to Jantir. Otherwise, you have to circumnavigate the great gorge entirely, which woud take considerably longer.</OOC>

<OOC> the Snowmelt Festival will be in full swing tonight in Cottar's Bale. Feasting and celebrations will abound.</OOC>

<OOC> Aerex has a suddenly peculiar feeling, that somewhere, someone, has been following the group. He thought so, and was about to say so, right before the mudslide erupted, but didnt get the chance. He isnt sure whether it is a big deal or not, since the "follower" seemed to be following them from the direction of the village, these past six hours or so. Could be a curious straggler perhaps. Aerex' ranger(spidey)-sense though, has allowed him to determine that its a single figure.</OOC>

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p

Talia said nothing, just nodded at Aerex's words. She was trembling slightly. Honestly, she thought she had almost died in that mud, and she still wasn't over it. She probably wouldn't be for some time. While she hated showing weakness, and hated panicking like a child, it wasn't something she could help. Almost assuredly, the ancestors were deeply disappointed in her, but the fear was too deep to ignore. It didn't seem like her friends thought less of her. Maybe one day, she'd share their view.

Spotting a familiar hilltop, Vorodon realized how far west the trail had taken them. They were approaching Gorram's Gouge, the valley known to humans as Ethddos Gorge. The overlook atop Fargell Hill offered an excellent view of the surrounding land.

"Up hill, good what to for look," he advised the others. "Fargell give look top of valley. Come?"

"They're hard to read," Aerex commented, hand gently following the broken tracks. "The mud and rain's mostly destroyed them. This looks like a boot print, a human," he said, waving over a blurry indentation in the muddy track. His eyes darted about. "This one's... this is ogre. Volgottoi, I'd guess." Matare squinted at another print, half buried by mud. "There's another one here, but I can't tell what it is."

Suddenly, the hair on Aerex's neck stood up on end. It was that feeling again, the one that had nagged him since they left. The feeling that someone was watching them, tracking them like he was tracking the ones on this trail. "Don't look too surprised," he said quietly and calmly, "but I think someone's following us. Don't know who, but I've just got a feeling. We should stay alert."

He lead Hearald over toa small waterfall, rather a trickl coming out of a rock wall, filtered by sand and unmarred by the everpresent mud, and proceeded to wash Herald's bruises, applying liquor to them and soothing his hurt steed to endure the necessary pain. To the worst, he applid a bandage, while yearning for firm imperial roads, city streets where you could hop into a cozy inn to avoid a downpour, or even the woods of his homeland that soaked up rain like a sponge, keeping the ground soft yet firm.

Still, that cozy inn would have to count as number one. With a bard or two, one of them playing, say, a violin, the other singing and slapping his .. her thigh in the rhythm of the song. Aye.

"All right? We can continue" he spoke, done with the daydream and his task.

« Last Edit: October 28, 2007, 01:42:13 PM by EchoMirage »

Logged

"Captain, the buttocks are moving from the pink into the red and purple spectrum! We cannot maintain this rate of spanking any longer!"

Tristan and Adan slowly made their way up, along a sloppy, muck-filled lip of the canyon, it was just as well, they had left their horses tehthered below. The incline, though not overly steep, in fact it was somewhat gradual, was indeed treacherous, and not a route for horses.

The sun had not yet set, but clear sky were slowly turning grey, as the two Triguians grimly climbed the gorge.

Two hours later, their breath once more gushing steam in the quickly cooling air, the pair reached the top. Briefly glancing back, they could see a hazy outline of the great Gorge of Ethddos yawning below them.

Ahead however, lay a maze of hills, muddy and foggy. Tristan scanned the terrain with slitted eyes. Adan kept a tight grip on his weapon, and with the other hand, occasionally fingered the scar tissue around his throat. The fallen paladin was breathing deeply.

Vorodon’s gaze scanned the cardinal horizons. To the east he could see the distant, vague outline of Cottar’s Bale. To the west, the formidable Ethddos Gorge. It had been a blessing, the half-ogre thought to himself, that the mudslide was not a true avalanche, for the companions would surely have been swept along with the mud and earth, over the rim, and would have perished, had the Flow’s strength been greater. Vorodon paused, and peered intently into the late afternoon gloom. He heard, but did not at first acknowledge Aerex Matare, who had come up behind the half-ogre, having likewise climbed the desolate hillock. Aerex withdrew an item from rucksack, a thin, brass, telescoping tube, with glass lenses, fitted at both ends. Putting the smaller end to his eye, the ranger scanned the surroundings as well. Vorodon turned then, and glanced over at the Insector, wondering as to what exactly the diminutive man was doing. The device was unknown to the half-ogre, but Aerex, who had found the spyglass in the bowels of the Glassmaker’s Monastery, knew its use quite well, since similar, but inferior instruments were used frequently in Jantir.

Aerex saw clearly what Vorodon had spied with his big, naked eye. Having somehow assailed the gorge, rising seemingly straight up from the yawning chasm, six huge figures, ogres perhaps, were now moving in an easterly direction, less than two thousand feet away, and nearing in huge strides, the base of the very hill where Talia, Kyrian, and Herald awaited Vorodon and Aerex.

The ranger and warrior exchanged glances. Vorodon was about to speak, when Aerex put his hand up to interrupt, and pointed east now again, handing the half-ogre his spyglass. After some fumbling, Vorodon peered through the glass and could now see a lone figure, human no doubt, heading likewise to the same hill, but from a different direction, the direction of Cottar’s Bale.

‘I think that one has been following us” Aerex said evenly. Vorodon nodded, but drew Aerex’ attention back toward the western front. The Verbeeg, Vorodon thought to himself, were a lot more dangerous, than whoever that was coming from the other side. He began to explain this to Aerex, as the ranger kept looking at the lone figure advancing. The man, for it was a man, was garbed in the grey, non-descript robes of a traveling monk, which were so favored by pilgrims headed to Jantir, as they traversed this desolate stretch of terrain. A cowl hid the man’s features.

Suddenly Vorodon spied two more figures in the direction of the Gorge, from whence the Verbeeg came. Small figures these, the half-ogre thought, humans.

Kyrian stared up, along the muddy contours of the hillock, Vorodon had called, Fargell Hill, and called up to Aerex and the half-ogre.

"All well?"

Talia strode next to Kyrian. Even from below, the elf and the gypsy could see that Vorodon and Aerex had seen something, and were now concerned.

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p

"Fill us in on a share of your astute perceptions, mister Aerex, so that our moves may be well planned" Kyrian asked the inspector as he stood at his side, surveying the vale below."Besides the ignoble Verbeeg neath our feet, no soul seems to be crossing this land. This should be simple enough."Indeed, well did he know foes of the kind that were approaching them - many a heavy bruiser did he face in his youth, back then, the cheering crowd filling the hot air over the blood-stained sand with bloodthirsty clamor. Many fools bet their coin on barely sentient mountains of muscle, but he knew better. Slow of body, slow of mind they would no evade the tip of his lance nor his blade should the need arise.

« Last Edit: November 04, 2007, 04:33:44 AM by EchoMirage »

Logged

"Captain, the buttocks are moving from the pink into the red and purple spectrum! We cannot maintain this rate of spanking any longer!"

Talia looked at the others, waiting for a response. She pulled her fans out from her belt; by some miracle she hadn't lost them in the mud, and she'd cleaned the worst of it off so they wouldn't rust. She snapped them open. Maybe what was coming wouldn't be a threat, but it hurt nothing to be ready for trouble.

Aerex folded his arms in thought. "That one's definitely the one who's been following us. It could be he's just headed our way; this isn't an uncommon trail to Jantir. But given our usual streak of luck, he's probably an assassin-wizard working for demons." He smirked - somewhat uncomfortably - before clearing his throat. "The verbeeg, now, won't be hard to follow. They probably pose a much greater threat than that man. But we could pretty easily catch them later if we wanted to investigate him first." Aerex scratched his mud-covered head. "'Course, that's assuming they're not off to invade the Volgottoi. If that's the case, they would be a priority." Matare sighed and shrugged. "I'm not sure what's worse."

Following far beyond the Verbeeg, as they were, Adan had little worries about the enormous creatures hearing them. And with their size, little worries about losing them beyond their ability to track. But when the time came, they would need a proper plan - Wisdom and cunning would be required to overcome strength and durability. Letting his mind drift over the things he carried, a single eyebrow would eventually rise on the man's face, before a vicious smile spread there. He would let the woes that the Verbeeg gave them be returned, though sadly unmultiplied. It would just take some brief moments of work with his hands...

As the man watched the Verbeeg, he reached down to the shaft of his great staff, and began to work the tight iron bindings up the staff slightly, not far, but simply enough to see daylight through the tracework on the end caps. It was hard work, but the man uttered up a brief prayer to Trigu for strength of arm and nimble fingers, as his hands did their best to thread the end of the thick, soft iron wire he carried from its spool in his pouch through first one end of the binding, and then the other, twisting it through several of the decorative holes there, before hopefully slipping them back onto the shaft, creating something not entirely unlike a longbow, with the blessing of Trigu's Luck.

The hill warrior considered the situation, his sloping brow furrowed in concentration. "Vorodon not know robe man behind. No good have robe man come if for flan surfress. But for Verbeeg friend, for if robe man friend, Vorodon warn," he quietly advised his companions.

Moving behind cover, Vorodon crept toward the stranger, crashing and clattering clumsily behind concealing rocks and scrub plants. Partially hidden, the mud-encrusted warrior sneaked through the rugged landscape with all the stealth of a chariot crash.

<OOC> post coming tonight/tomorrow. Sorry (again). Will try to speed everything up a bit now. Just want to throw out, that with the Thanksgiving weekend on its way next week, I'll be off from work for 4 days, online, and posting often. I predict we'll be in Jantir by next weekend at the latest. Thank you. </OOC>

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p

“Horrible place, this is” he grumbled as he trudged through the mud. Adjusting the straps on his pack, he pushed slowly forward. The ogres in the village were kind in the amount of supplies they afforded him, though it was more than enough…and quite heavy. Leaning on his staff he rested a moment.

Keeping up with this odd band of travelers was hard business, and keeping a safe distance even harder. But if the rumors he heard in the ogre village were true…curiosity had gotten the better of him.

Taking a deep breath, he prepared to press on before he lost sight of them again. Just before taking a step, a growing cacophony began to rise from the brush. The sounds of creaking leather, metal on stone, sliding rocks, and breaking branches was steadily becoming louder. Whoever it is they aren’t being subtle…

Looking towards the sound, he saw what appeared to be a very large man, covered from head to toe in muck, lumbering towards him. The disheveled mass seemed on urgent business. This doesn’t look promising…

“Doesn’t seem to be a good day for you either, friend.” He said in an even, sure tone. Hopefully he’s friendly…this day is going badly enough!

« Last Edit: December 08, 2007, 08:57:07 AM by the Wanderer »

Logged

"Every normal man must be tempted at times to spit upon his hands, hoist the black flag, and begin slitting throats." ~Henry L Mencken

Perhaps it was due to the late hour, the long day, or his aching, rotting tooth. Whatever it was, Brown Borgradoc the Verbeeg gang leader was too lazy to engage the black-crowned eagles he had been training as hatchlings. The assault on the stupid priests of Trigu (whichever god that was) proved so simple and without complication, that Borgradoc was now a bit over confident.

Whichever group this was ahead, would be subdued without much incident as well, either by words or force. Brown Borgradoc did not care which.

The Verbeeg wanted to return to the village in time for the night's festivities, and these travellers ahead would merely give up their belongings and be on their way. So Borgradoc decided to himself. Who after all, would wish to engage in an evening battle with his ferociuos group. No one.

Borgradoc smiled, and licked his aching tooth. Some were born under unlucky stars, their lives full of hardship and pain. I am fated for greatness however, the Verbeeg leader though to himself. Soon, he would be Hetman of Cottar's BAle, and that was that.

Turning form his own musings, Borgradoc glanced at his gang members, and raised his beefy hand to call a halt.

"Three hundred yards ahead, there is a group of three or four travelers. We are close to the village. Let us not make a ruckus if we can help it. Though if they do not comply with our requests, we will have to kill them quickly, and bury their remains. I wish to reach Cottar's Bale within the next three hours."

Looking around the terrain, he added, "Looks as if they were caught in a mudslide."

Borgradoc then glanced at Mrok, then Dog, and the others. "Dog will come with me", he said, tightening his grip on the insane Verbeeg's leash. "Mrok, you too, and your half-brother. Dumjakk and Yoord, you move closer and secure position to launch your bolts. If I raise my arm, fire until they are all dead."

All the Verbeeg now jumped from foot to foot, muttering and growling in excitement at the coming bloodshed. To be honest. Borgradoc's sparing of the pathetic priests still irked them.

"There is a horse, as well. We will take it for the feast"

At this, a grin spread on the cavernous, yellow-eyed face of the one called, Dog, and sometimes, Ubu.

PoisonAlchemist: Man Muro, you boost my confidence and then you just go crush it with a heartbreaking work of staggering genius.Pariah: Don't tell him things like that, if his head gets any bigger he'll float off like a weather ballon :p